


A Grave Turn of Events

by Arlyshawk



Series: Dream of Fire [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for War of Iokath, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: "She’s dead, Major, put it behind you."Those had been Empress Acina's words to him. He let his mother-in-law down, his children as well... But the promise he had made to his wife when she left three years ago - he broke that too. A broken man, Malavai does what he can as but a ghost of who he was - his wife's memory forever lingering - until the Galactic Alliance calls upon him.Acina's game stops existing; everything changes.





	A Grave Turn of Events

**Author's Note:**

> Tagging for Spoilers for 5.2 of SWTOR, War for Iokath. Im also tagging this up here in case anyone has issues reading anxiety attacks or disorders like what Malavai has.
> 
> I felt no joy in writing this, I'm saying it now.And as someone pointed out, yes - my Sith Warrior's name is Quinn. It's confusing (Im sorry)

He stops telling himself that he’s alive anymore.

It’s a lie, his heart tells him, because it still beats in his chest and he’s walking up and down the halls of the Citadel.. Alone, he’s walking  _alone._  But he isn’t  _truly_ alive anymore, his mind isn’t as sharp as it should be, he feels like walking through a thick haze. Without her, these halls seem greater than they once had been, towering.. Once, he hadn’t been alone in the wolves den, because he had her… His wife had walked beside him in these halls, her hand on his elbow, and every guard, apprentice, and even some lords bowed before her. She is -  _was_ , you idiot - their Wrath. He stops trying to fight the fact that she’s alive, Acina has told him over and over..

 _She’s dead, Major, put it behind you._  

The words aren’t said out of kindness, or even as some way to soothe his anxiety, but rather they’re said as a reminder. A harsh one, at that. How many nights had he sat in prison, thinking of his wife and children? He doesn’t remember what his children look like - or what they look like now - seeing as they’re almost five. He barely remembers his Sol. What remnants of her that linger in his mind are the melodic sounds of her laughter and the way she said his name. The sweetness of her tone when she said it too.. it’s what keeps him sane now. The only.. thing.

Acina tells him that in a few days, the Outlander and Alliance Commander will come to Dromund Kaas to formulate an accord between what remains of the Empire and this newly founded Alliance. He’s seen the Outlander’s face before, as well as her advisors. Meifen Fyr, a reformed - that’s the loosest term he can think of - Smuggler of the Republic is the  _Outlander_. Hunter of Nok Drayen’s treasure, known for her troublemaking skills on Alderaan…

He forgets Meifen, he forgets everything that clings to him, as he enters his office. His thumb runs over the ring on his hand that lies hidden beneath his glove. Across the room, the picture of his family glares at him. The people in it are alien to him. He knows his son, his daughter… Lorelei with her mess of russet curls and her sweet laugh. Balthazar, who is his miniature, save the Force Sensitivity. And..Sol.  _Smiling_.

And for the life of him, he can’t remember the day that the photo was taken. All he can recall are the looks of hurt and  _damned pity_  that people gave him when Acina announced his Sol’s death. He didn’t want their pity, he wanted a body, her lightsabers, his mother’s ring,  _anything_.

He wants - wanted - to hope that she was still alive. And he waited for years for a message, or better, her return. But.. there was nothing, and there still isn’t. He had waited a solid year before he felt uncomfortable around other Imperials, the sort of uneasy, too thick tension that sets in the middle of a war. Against the hope that tried to follow him, he sent the twins to Arkanis - and Stars.. they cried. Lorelei perhaps more than Balto did. And it broke his heart to hear his children cry, to let them. He kissed away Lorelei’s tears and told her to be brave for him. Her sapphire doe eyes were puffy despite the nod she gave him. Balto had looked at him with as much as of a steely face as a one and a half year old could give him. They understood each other in some strange sense then. His son, who understood that they couldn’t stay with him anymore, for fear of losing them.. He had lost their mother, who’s to say that he could stop a Sith Lord or assassin from taking their lives?

 _He_  had lost their  _mother_.. Like the fool he is, he had lost her. What a  _pitiful_  excuse for a husband, for a lover.

He presses a couple fingers to a sore spot above his eye. The pain is sharp, like the leading edge of a knife. The headaches have become more and more prevalent - years and months go by and they grow in frequency and pain. A medic says he needs to manage his stress, but he hasn’t felt it in months -  _years,_  he corrects himself. Perhaps he’s numb, cold, or worse…  

_You could die if you continue in this state, Major. I think it’s best that you find an outlet.. Medication, something - to ease your psyche._

Those words are a year old now.

A part of him screams to stop fighting. He never will get his wife back, his children are safe - why does he keep fighting? What use is there? This war will kill all of them in a flash of blood and fire. The bright flame of the Eternal Empire will engulf everything and everyone in a single flash one of these days, leaving only ash.

If he burned, he wouldn’t scream. If he was impaled, he might not fight it - no, he wouldn’t. Would he see her then? His wife, in all of her shining beauty, with her smile that softens when she looks at him… Would he feel her hands on his skin again?

He rests his head on the cool glass when his headache rears its head with another jab of pain. He just wants to dream of her.. just once.

* * *

Malavai spends his days under the gaze of the Empress until Lady Solimar - his mother in law - asks it of Her Grace to let him walk with her.

His mother in law is a woman who he used to believe should have been Empress. She’s a lioness, proud and gentle, and has the sort of venerability that Acina entirely lacks. Her hair is the same shade of chestnut as his wife’s, even their honey colored eyes are the same.. His heart aches. She smiles when she sees him, the sort that’s motherly and warm, and takes his face in her hands to look at him.

Acina isn’t here.

Shutting his eyes, he slouches nearly into his mother in law, only stopping when she runs her fingers through his hair. Her fingers are frigid.. Sol’s were always warm, so unbelievably warm, like summer sun.

“Look at you,” Lyra says, forlorn. She smoothes down his hair, “You look ill, Malavai.”

“I’m fine, mother,” Yes, he’s fine.. He’ll be fine.

Lyra’s mouth turns into a small frown, “Come now, do you honestly believe you could lie to me?”

He smiles for her, though he forces it, “I believed I could try.”

Lyra drags him along with her to her chambers where she sits him down and offers him food and tea that he doesn’t eat right away. He ignores the concerned, mildly irritated glance she gives him but it subsides. The look she gives him is more concern than pity. She would pity him, he’s not the man he was, nor.. will he ever.

She touches his hand from across the table, “Please, do an old woman a favor, Malavai.. Take care of yourself. The twins ask after you every day, Lorelei most of all.”

A pang of heartache jabs him.

His mother in law’s eyes hold his, “You should see them soon. They’re nearly four.”

“How are they coping?”

Lyra offers him a cookie, “You eat and I will tell you.”

Against the protest that screams in his head, he does as he’s told. Lyra isn’t a woman to be told “no” to. He’s seen her throw Pierce across the room before with a flick of her wrist. She had broken three ribs with a single throw for a single sideways comment made in his wife’s general direction. He does as he’s told, against his head’s better judgment.

Lyra folds her slender hands together, “Balthazar is all ready showing signs of acute Force Sensitivity, and because of it I’ve begun to teach him how to shield his mind. Lorelei.. well.. Ever her father’s daughter, worries that she’ll never see you again.”

They deserve a father who isn’t afraid to face them. He is, out of fear, out of love.. out of the promise he made to her the day she left with Jaesa. It had never been a command, not once, but a plea - a mother’s plea - to keep them safe in case she never returned.

_She’s dead, Major, put it behind you._

His mother in law’s features soften, so very unlike her daughter’s in a way that he can’t put his finger on. Quinn’s face always softens at her eyes, Lyra’s softens at her brow.

“Have hope, darling,” Her voice is soft, however happy. Her honey colored eyes hold his, “She’ll come home.”

“The Empress says she’s dead.”

Her soft countenance falls and irritation twists her face, “And what do you have as proof? A body? Her sabers? What?”

“I only have her word.”

“Exactly, and a woman who says she is Empress isn’t truly Empress - nothing can change that, not a crown or blood, not even lineage,” Lyra’s voice is ice, “Acina isn’t the Empress, Malavai. I could have told you that.”

She’s wrong, he tells himself, because the Empress is the Empress - she is his sovereign. And there isn’t a thing in the galaxy that can change that now. His mother in law’s eyes rake him, suddenly becoming the Dark Council Lord that he remembered all those years ago when they met - cold and unfeeling like the ice lakes on Hoth. He breaks first, choosing to look at the squall that batters against the glass.

Anxiety crushes his throat and he feels trapped, so utterly  _helpless_  and trapped - he needs to get out. He steadies his breathing - he doesn’t need another panic attack from this. Not now. Not  _now._  He’s willing to take anything but this god awful feeling of being choked and overwhelmed and.. drowning in air. His hands shake and he feels his pulse jump..  _please, not in front of_ her.

He forces down the hard, painful lump in his throat and looks back to Lyra.

“Mother, if you will excuse me, I have reports to file,” He tells her swiftly. The walls are too close… “I will return later, if you’ll have me.”

Lyra’s eyes dart from the table and back again, “Of course.”

He walks faster than he means to because he’s shaking and damn it, he wants  _out_. A step into the hallway with the door closing behind him makes him rest his forehead against the cold plasteel walls. His mind stops racing, his pulse evens, but it doesn’t stop the sense of disgusting shame and his own self loathing from sinking its claws into his chest.

He’s so tired… He’s done fighting.

* * *

The first faces he sees from the Alliance are the Outlander herself and Theron Shan.

Meifen is a slip of a woman, just coming to Agent Shan’s shoulder, and her smile is infectious. Her dark hair is cropped to her shoulders that brushes her face as she tries to keep up with the SIS Agent. It’s hard to find a smile and laugh like the Outlander’s in a war like this. It’s so achingly free and careless that he feels envious. Theron greets him with an inclination of his head as they pass each other to the Empress’s throne room. He never liked Theron - too feisty, too willing to hold a grudge - but the agent did his job, and Malavai could honor that much in him.

Lana Beniko is nowhere to be seen despite Intelligence saying otherwise. That.. And the Commander. Lana might’ve known where Quinn went, but.. he shouldn’t ask. It’s not his place and he worries too much.

_What is your place anymore, you fool?_

Funny, that he doesn’t remember. He knows his name, his rank, who he serves - but where does he fit? What place can he call his own?

_You can’t, because she’s dead. You let her leave, you let her die._

Malavai pushes those words down. He checks with the guard that the Commander has come as well as Lana before going back to the throne room’s ebon and thunderhead grey doors to find them.. cracked but not closed. He can sees Acina’s crimson and onyx robes as she walks - no, she’s watching someone, like a wolf sizing up prey - and a voice breaks the tense, still silence.

“Do not preach your greatness, Your  _Grace_. You are not as high and holy as you say you are, because instead of proving to me - to the  _galaxy -_ that the Empire was to be revered again, what did you do? You sat here, in the corner of your world, and did  _nothing.”_

His heart is in his throat.. He knows that voice.

“Quinn,” Her name is silent on his lips. He can’t control the tremor that radiates down his hands. No, that can’t right - he’s hearing things. Suddenly, his body is cold and his fingers are numb. She’s dead, she’s dead, damn it! The Empress said.. Acina said.. Nausea coils up in his gut, so tight and hideous that its borderline painful. He implores his body to move, but it refuses, as if it knows somewhere in the pit of itself that she’s there.

_She’s dead, Major, put it behind you._

Acina’s reply is muffled by the blood thundering in his ears. A heavy crack of steel toed boots hitting steel and he flinches.

“You  _left_  one of our kind to  _bleed_ and narrowly die upon a remote world and for what purpose? Darth Nox was perhaps the greatest of the Dark Council alongside Darth Marr and  _you_  did nothing to save him!”

“I did what was best for the Empire, Lady Wrath.”  

A scoff, “What is best could’ve bit you and you would have been none the wiser - I didn’t see you upon the battlefields on Corellia, nor did I see you when Darth Malgus turned traitor. I don’t seem to remember  _ever_  seeing you holding broken, bloody Imperial soldiers that cried for their families that they would never see again!”

The lights above him flicker and sway to an unknown wind.

“Tell me where you were when Darth Nox told me that he would have rather died than continue on surviving in the wilds of Odessen! Tell me what you would have said when the soldiers begged you to end their lives!”

Lightning crackles to life, “The Empire needed stability!”

“No, the Empire could have survived! You merely waited and bided your time while other bled for your own ends until Ziost went up in ash to take the title of Empress for yourself! So then tell me,  _Empress_ , where were you when Ziost lost thousands of lives?”

“Darth Marr wouldn’t stand for your berating.”

“No, but at least Darth Marr would have never sat on his hands while his kindred were dying and our soldiers were on the losing side of a fight. He would have made a better Emperor than you, Acina, by eons. And you cannot see it.”

He feels like he’s suffocating again. Drowning, trying to find some sort of purchase on. That voice isn’t real, it can’t be. Quinn is dead.

He’ll wake up from this nightmare to face the waking one soon.

* * *

Quinn Solimar figures she’s irritated the Empress enough when she receives a message from Theron stating that Acina is giving the Alliance Sith warriors and several regiments of soldiers who are willing to abandon the Empire in favor of destroying Vaylin. That and she knows that she angered Acina when she said yes to returning Malavai to her.

Serves a woman who believes herself to be Empress rather than acting it. Serves her right for treating her husband the way that she did for three years. Three years of his depression swallowing who he is, three years being numb… Three years she should’ve been with him. Two years without the twins..

Her mother tells her that the twins both nearly tackled him to the ground when they saw him, and he had smiled. From what she gathers, that’s one of the first smiles that her mother has seen on his face in years. It does her heart measures of good to hear those words.

She twists her practice swords in her hands and lunges at Lana. For once, she doesn’t try to exhaust herself when she trains.

* * *

The Commander wishes to speak to him.

He doesn’t know what she’s like, only that she’s Sith, and he can’t help but fear the welling of emotions that rises up in his chest, making it tighten and constrict him as he takes the elevator down. Vette had bounded up to him when he arrived and she had given him a long, watery look before hugging him so hard that his spine popped. Pierce had inclined his head to him as they passed each other, but no words were exchanged.

Stepping off the elevator, Malavai passes a Devaronian and a Mirialan walking side by side before the cavern walls open up to reveal a lifted platform that’s braced by computers on either side. He spies Lana Beniko first, her bright gold hair now the color of wheat, and Theron Shan with Meifen Fyr leaning on him.

No Commander.

Climbing the steps, Lana greets him with a smile across the table - why was that smile so knowing? What did she know? - And then his heart stops.

His wife, in armor of polished armor of pitch black, smiles at him from Lana’s side. It’s a gentle smile, soft and so terribly happy that he swears he’s looking at a hallucination. No, that’s what it is - she’s not real,  _not real._  It’s impossible! She looks so different, her hair is longer, there are subtle lines of stress in her face.. Its Quinn, but.. not.

The hallucination of his wife loses her smile, “Lana, Theron, Mei - leave me.”

The three move at her command, though how he doesn’t know why because a hallucination is strictly bound to one’s mind. But when they’re gone, she moves. Quinn always moved with the sort of grace of a Nexu, a predator, completely and utterly silent and this.. thing does the same. Toe before heel, steel toed boots softly  _clicking_  against the floor. She comes to stand so close to him that he can smell the rosemary and mint oil she puts in her hair.

“Malavai, my darling,” Quinn’s image whispers with a shaking voice. A gloved hand rises to cup his cheek and he can’t help but lean into the feeling of the leather against his skin. “Look at you.. You look awful.”

“Quinn..” He nuzzles her hand, “What happened? Where are you?”

“I’m with you,” Her tone is so kind, it breaks his heart that he let her leave. Her honey colored eyes glisten with grief, but her countenance doesn’t falter, “I’m right here with you.. On Odessen.”  

He finds himself shaking his head, “You can’t be. You died…”

“No, Malavai, I’m  _alive_ ,” Muscles in her throat tighten, “I didn’t die.. I’m real, I promise.”

  “Empress Acina said you died, your body still isn’t found - how can I tell the twins? You were my everything, and I..” A sob tries to break him, but he swallows it. “You still are my everything, Quinn, even until the day I die, you will be the love of my life.”

Her thumb runs across his cheekbone, staying silent. It knows. Then, the warmth of the leather glove is gone, and takes his hand to press his fingers against the column of her throat that her armors covers. Her eyes go from his arm, to his face, and then back. They’re begging him to feel for a pulse - something - despite the facts otherwise.

Yet, on the left side of her neck… There’s a pulse.

He doesn’t know what swallows him up, whether its relief, joy, or something else entirely but it cripples him. His knees buckle as his world grabs him by the shoulders and drags him down. Tremors take his body in waves as he wraps his arms around her waist and presses his face against her abdomen.

She’s  _real. Real,_ for once.

“You’re alive,” Malavai chokes out, a hand grips her coat, “I-I thought you were-”

“I know,” Her voice is music to his ears and her fingers are combing through his hair, “And I’m sorry I left you, my love. But I thought of you and the twins every day while I was gone…”

There’s break in her tone, but he doesn’t care. Stars, he doesn’t give a damn - the earth could be splitting open and he wouldn’t care. Tears stain the cloth beneath her armor. Quinn shifts to kneel in front of him, slips off her gloves, and holds his face in her slender hands. She presses her lips against his forehead before another wave of sheer pent up grief releases itself in him. So many years, so many months without her.

“I love you,” He whispers and holds her tight to him, face pressing against her neck. “I love you, my darling. I love you.”

The words slur together against her skin and in her hair. Underneath his hands, he feels a sob finally wrack her, but it doesn’t stop her from running her fingers through his hair and kissing his face.

A kiss lands on his temple, “I love you too.”

“Please don’t leave again.”

“Never.”

She stands then, offering him her hand to pull him up and smiles at him again. He bands his arms around her - he isn’t about to let her go now - and rests his forehead against hers. One hand presses over his heart, the other lifting to run along his cheek. Closing his eyes, he relaxes finally.

_She’s not dead, Empress, she’s alive._


End file.
